Apparently, it took “Billy No Mates” 10 years to make this album. Given how long it takes me to have a wee before bed these days, I sympathise. The name “Billy No Mates” is taking the piss anyway, as Duncan Redmonds is surely one of the most popular people in punk rock, and probably Ye Olde Folke Twatte scene too - a delicious, deliberate irony.
I declare an interest: I like Duncan/Billy, and all his works. Track 1 (‘If These Streets Could Talk’) tested that to the giddy limit in its opening 10 seconds, with the line ‘singing You’ll Never Walk Alone’. I pressed pause, reminded myself of the slightly bigger problems facing the world, and pressed play again. I’m glad I did. Duncan’s characterful, gruff-but-tuneful voice leads a poignant bit of London storytelling, homely and comforting from the off. The band kicks in, up-tempo, with Duncan’s trademark double snare hits reassuring and familiar. The song canters through the doodlebugs, fires and plagues, and how each time the bridge came tumbling down they’d build it up again. Ralph McTell would feel at home, on these Streets of London.
Track 2 is called ‘Big Cliché’ and its opening tune is almost irrelevant, as it’s all about the words talking us through the chord progression, like Natasha Bedingfield in a Dennis the Menace jumper. The pace and attitude pick up, and the punk-by-numbers words turn to pointed lyrics, pricking pompous prats with ‘a great big fuck-off choir singing all the clichés, about holding your head high, singing proud, walking tall through the storm’.
Track 3 (‘Slap Top’) and 4 (‘Look at You’) bustle along, introducing question-answer vocals, catchy guitar motifs and other characteristic features. Things really pick up at Track 5 (‘Skulls & Smiles’), which comes straight in with the classic skatepunk beat – always guaranteed to get me moving. There’s a trademark half-time bridge, that still comes as a surprise though I know one is due. It’s an effective blast of pace.
Another fast one next would be too predictable – who do you think this is, No Use for A Name? Track 6 (‘What’s That Fluffy?’) bounces along with a syncopated guitar part backing a memorable ‘Take Me With You’ refrain. The guitar melody in track 7 (‘One Wave Short of Shipwreck’) provides similar interest – I’m guaranteed to find myself humming it the next time I’m in a boat, or the bath.
Next up is the title track, ‘Sourdough’. It’s a proper romp, a classic Redmonds instrumental, backing an interesting debate about the merits of different types of bread going on over my head in the samples. I could have gone another few rounds, and maybe a metal breakdown. It builds you up, before track 9 (‘It’s Going to be No’) takes you down to jaunty stroll-in-the-park pace, with the words reminding you that things may seem bad now, but not to worry, as they probably won’t get better. ‘If you think it’s all gonna make sense, you’re wrong.’
Never mind though, as track 10 (‘Angry Song’) is a minute full of metal riffs and shouted vocals. It’s ace. There is a false division between ‘punk’ and ‘metal’, and I like to straddle it, once a day and twice on Sundays. In between that, I sing 70s sitcom themes in the shower – which is handy, as that’s exactly what track 11 (‘Silver Love Down Mission St.’) sounds like. It has a memorable, poignant melody and – like all the best towns and football matches – a half-time bridge. It glows with positivity: ‘Take a little time to smell the roses, take a little time to see what’s right, with your life’. It’s proper stuff, dripping with sincerity. The sombre counterpoint guitar of track 12 (‘Your Name in Lights’) reminds us that for all the fun and levity, Duncan and friends are adults in the punk rock room. We can all learn a lot from them.
‘S.F. Sourdough’ is jaunty, poignant and unchallenging, like a walk to a good pub with close friends. There are no trombones, organs, maracas or other embellishments to distract from a set of good tunes, honestly performed by proper pros. As usual, songs are the thing, and Duncan Redmonds knows it better than almost anyone: his melodies are memorable, his arrangements astute, and his lyrics by turn preposterous and poignant. To an old sentimentalist like me, the poignant parts stand out: the positivity and perspective of ‘Silver Love Down Mission Street’, which will enliven my next shower, whether the neighbours like it or not; and most of all, the smoky storytelling of the opening track – ‘if these streets could talk they’d tell you, just where you’re going wrong, they’d turn you round, and point you home, singing…[insert culturally appropriate song from a popular musical of your choice].
Words: Ste Lingard, Photos: Band Media
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